


makes me feel in love again

by cresswell



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Halloween, Not-So-Secret Crushes, don't tell octavia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresswell/pseuds/cresswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hi." She felt giddy and young and stupid. It thrilled her. She leaned into his space like he had a magnetic pull, and it took all her might to keep from crushing him to her. "I like your costume."</p>
            </blockquote>





	makes me feel in love again

**Author's Note:**

> so basically, in this fic, bellamy and clarke have mad crushes on each other. the only reason they're not together is because octavia knows and would feel betrayed if her best friend hooked up with her brother. but it's halloween, and, like. i don't know. costumes make people brave.
> 
> also, if you don't get the reference, bellamy is seymour from the musical little shop of horrors.

Bellamy led her through the crowd, his fingers firm but gentle on her wrist, and she slipped against other sweaty bodies in the club and clung to his hand. She was leaving a trail of glitter behind her, she was sure.

"Here." Bellamy led them out what appeared to be a back door, the streetlamps illuminating his sweaty hair. He dropped her wrist, but his fingers immediately jumped to his shirt hem and began twisting it, like it was killing him not to touch her. In the yellow light, she could just make out his smile. "Hi."

"Hi." She felt giddy and young and stupid. It thrilled her. She leaned into his space like he had a magnetic pull, and it took all her might to keep from crushing him to her. "I like your costume."

"Yeah?" He looked down to examine himself. His blazer had been long since discarded, but the button-down and khakis still looked nice. She felt her stomach flip as he smiled again, his eyes crinkling beneath the glasses he wore. "Do you like _Little Shop?"_

"Love it," Clarke enthused. "Especially Seymour."

He smiled again, all crooked and dimple-y and Clarke could feel her body igniting. He inclined his head towards her before she could combust. "Which Greek goddess are you?"

"Athena," she answered, almost shyly. The light teal fabric felt as soft as silk on her skin, although it was probably something much cheaper, and the glitter Octavia had sprinkled on her arms and in her hair stood out on her skin like a lighthouse. It was sexy, she thought, but in a refined, classy way. Bellamy hadn't been able to keep his eyes off her all night. "She's incredible."

"Yeah?" The word was nothing more than a breath, and Clarke saw it fog in the air. Bellamy leaned against the wall of the club like his knees were weak, his eyes wide and on her.

Clarke nodded and mirrored him. She could see his resolve crumbling, his tongue darting out to lick his lips, his pupils dilated. They'd been dancing around each other for months now, and Clarke guessed her glimmering skin and his glasses were weakening them both. "Yeah. Outsmarted most of the other gods. Protected her children." She was speaking in short sentences, her eyes lingering on the exposed slice of his chest. "She... I don't know. Sorry. This is probably really boring."

Bellamy was quick to shake his head. "What? No. I like hearing you talk." He bit his lip and Clarke could not for the life of her look away. "Especially about things you like."

She nodded again, at a loss for anything intelligent to say. Her skin was sprouting goosebumps from the cold air and she tried to hide it when her body gave an almost violent shiver.

Bellamy frowned. "Are you cold?" He shook his head, rolling his eyes at himself. "What am I saying? Of course you're cold. I'll go get my jacket, okay?"

"No, that's alright, you don't have to-"

He waved his hand, already pushing himself up off the wall. "It's really not a problem. It'll just take a second."

He stepped past her, their shoulders brushing, and a burst of heat traveled up her arm and through her body. Suddenly, as if he'd felt it too and they were moving in tandem, she'd grabbed his hand and pulled him against her. He braced his hands on either side of her head, their bodies lined up, but he stopped mere inches from her mouth.

"Clarke, you know I-" he stopped suddenly, drawing in a long, shaky breath, and closed his eyes. "You know I want to. I really, really want to. But we- we've spent so much energy keeping our distance, and I..."

"We've _wasted_ so much energy," she corrected gently, her skin alive. She ran a hand into his hair and his eyelids fluttered shut again, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "We don't have to anymore."

In an instant, he was kissing her, so soon that he nearly cut off her last word. She gasped against his mouth, her eyes going wide before she realized what was happening and shut them tight, kissing him back. He was fever-hot against her, all tense muscles and thudding heartbeats, and she fell back against the wall of the club. He touched her waist, her neck; it was like he was itching to get his hands on her after being told _see, don't touch_ for so long. His glasses bumped her cheekbone and he pulled back briefly to take them off impatiently, and in the buzzing outside light, Clarke could see a smear of her glitter on his jaw.

She swallowed hard, and Bellamy's eyes went to her throat. She tilted her head back like an invitation. "Please?"

He didn't need to be asked twice. Gripping her hips in his hands, he pulled her against him and pressed feather-light kisses to her neck. He was keeping himself in control, Clarke knew, and it made her dig her fingers into his hair in desperation. "Please. I won't break."

"I know," he mumbled against her neck, sucking a bruise on the skin. He sounded almost drunk, like she was intoxicating him. "You're so..."

"Yeah," Clarke breathed, arching into his body. He caged her beautifully, and she could feel his lips curve into a smile against the hollow of her jaw. "You, too."

They both laughed breathlessly, not making any sense, and Bellamy removed his face from the crook of her neck to rest his forehead against hers. "Hi."

"Hi," she said back, the word hushed, and he touched her cheek with his fingers. When he pulled them back, they glittered. "What're we going to do?"

Bellamy didn't answer right away, but his hand tightened on her hip and she could see a muscle in his jaw tense. Her hand smoothed down the front of his shirt like she was trying to comfort him, and he closed his eyes at the touch. "I don't know."

"If we tell her," she said quietly, "she'll never forgive us."

There was a long, heavy pause, and Bellamy used it to kiss the tip of her nose. "It'd be okay."

Clarke leaned back enough to see his face properly, her eyebrows furrowing in surprise. "But she's your sister."

"And she's forgiven me for everything before now." He ran his fingertips along her forehead until the worry lines disappeared. "I don't want to hide you like something I'm ashamed of. You deserve better than that."

Her heart swelled in her chest. "I'd understand."

"I know you would," he said easily. "And that's why I like you so much. But I'm okay if you are."

She was nodding almost before he finished speaking. "Yes. _Yes_ , I'm okay. I'm _more_ than okay."

He smiled again, practically radiating happiness, and she grabbed him by his collar and closed the few inches between them. Their kisses were still soft, almost shy: they were two people who were good at waiting.

When they broke apart, breathing a little heavy, Bellamy extended his hand and pulled open the club's door. "You ready?"

Clarke slid her palm against his, their fingers knotting so easily. "Yes," she said, and let him pull her into the pulsing neon lights.


End file.
